What If You
by LorenChristine
Summary: Harry's scar had not pained him after nineteen years. All was well— or wasn't it? Mishap of loved ones for Harry and Draco had been their second nature. But neither of them have anticipated on the other dying.
1. Forewarning

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own Harry Potter or its respective characters, plot, or settings. They are the sole property of Joanne Rowling and her co. I make no money off this; it's merely for fun.

* * *

**What If You**

****Unloading the remaining in the box, Harry caught sight of a rectangular figure lying at the bottom. Dubiously picking it up, creases fromed on his forehead as he tried to recall the last time he has held and examined the object. He turned it around, and a smile etched on his face as soon as he felt the texture of the cover and the binding. _Of course, he remembered. _It seemed like yesterday when Hagrid handed it out to him before boarding the Hogwarts Express on his first year, chuckling lowly when he imagined the half-giant's threat on his cousin.

Before turning the page, he mindlessly walked towards the bed, his eyes locked on the scrapbook.

He plunged on the newly-applied comforter, sinking a couple inches. The knowing smiles of his parents made him feel a tad forlorn. Even after avenging his parent's (and anyone else's) death, the same question keeps popping-up in his head: _What would our family be like if you survived?_ He let out an anguished breath.

"Harry," said a voice that made him jump up slightly. "I've been calling you, didn't you hear me?"

Harry snapped the book shut as he looked up, "Oh. Yeah. I'm sorry, I was kinda preoccupied."

"What's that?" Draco asked, reaching over as he settled down beside him.

Harry instinctively transferred the object on his outstretched left hand where it was farther from the other man, unsure if he can let anyone else discover one of his prized possessions.

But Draco was steadfast. He fought for the book, bit out unnecessary remarks as Harry raised his arm higher and drew it out more distant. Draco leaned in too abruptly and found himself atop of Harry, taking the advantage and swiped the book from his writhing lover.

"Who knew you were that determined to get that thing?" Harry managed in between gasps for air.

"Because a Malfoy always get what they want," Draco replied smugly.

"To be honest, I knew you should've been sorted into Gryffindor," Harry grinned.

"_What?_" Draco scowled at him. "I am absolutely horrified by your assumption. There is no way will I ever be one of your _Gryffindorks_."

"Yeah. But you're mine."

"Still not a Gryffindor," Draco muttered, looking away.

Nevertheless, Harry flashed a smile that showed triumph.

Draco sat up, Harry following suit. Draco flipped the book open, eyes trailing on every picture, pausing here and there to ask absurd questions.

"Look at Granger's hair," he pointed out, amused. Hermione's hair was a brown and bushy mess. It wondered Harry how she managed to tame it.

"Look at Weasel—" Harry glared at him. "—Weasley's nose."

"Is this... Longbottom? Oh my goodness."

"Look at this kid, he looks like you—"

"Because that _is_ me, Draco." snickered Harry.

"You're too skinny, and... why are your clothes too big for your size?" Draco turned quizzically at Harry.

"Well, the Dursley's didn't fancy me that much, they had to give me Dudley's old clothes..." he smiled a little. "After all these years, I haven't grown into them."

After a couple of page turning and more sensible questions, Draco gave the book back and disappeared around the corner; returning with a picture in hand and sitting back on his original position.

"Remember this?" he held out the card. "I think this deserves to be part of your little book." he secured it in place.

Harry smiled down at the recently placed photo. It was both of them at the re-inauguration of Hogwarts after the war. It was Harry and Draco's idea on an additional room that will serve as a memorial to those who died in the war, as to pay tribute on their outstanding courage and perseverance. Draco turned to his left and said something, Harry caught his lips as he turned back, camera lights flashing at the background. Draco looked back and beamed at the camera men, their ceaseless snaps of the device blinding him. Then, Harry remembered whispering in his ear: _Something worth for the Daily Prophet._

This time, it was Draco who kissed Harry by the cheek, making him look up from the photo. Smiles were exchanged just as the loud cracking noise behind their door interrupted them.

Harry stood up, peaked at the peep-hole and turned the knob. "Madame Melena," he said in bewilderment. "What brings you here?"

Madame Melena is a woman in her forties, her brown hair with streaks of grey was fastened into a tight bun— which reminded Harry of Headmistress McGonagall. She was short, yet healthy despite her age. Her nose was slightly crooked, and skin sagged under her eyes. She's been under the department of Magical Maladies and Injuries at St. Mungo's for over a decade, now, so it wasn't surprising at all to see the physical changes of age and stress on her.

Harry stepped aside to usher her in, Draco flashing a welcoming smile.

She stepped in, returning the smile. Quickly examining the details of the house, she placed a protruding envelope on a vacant chair nearby. "Hello, boys," she turned to look at them, "or should I say _men_."

Harry smirked as he walked to stand beside Draco, intertwining their fingers.

"You have a very lovely home," she commented, moving gingerly as to avoid the boxes scattered on the floor.

"Thank you," Draco replied. "Apologies for the mess, we just moved here a couple of days ago so we're just finishing on stacking up some items around the house."

"Do you want anything? Some tea and biscuits?" Harry inquired.

The healer stopped examining the place and took a while to register the offer, "Oh, no. Thank you but I'm in a hurry," she moved to retrieve the envelope and pulled out a couple of papers.

Pursing her lips as she reluctantly handed over the files, she watched silently on both of their reaction.

The two took turns on exchanging the papers, frowning and quickly scanning it.

After a while, Harry asked, dumbfounded, "So... what are all these?"

Looking at him intently with a hint of grief, she stated slowly and clearly, "I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but you were diagnosed with cancer."


	2. Denial

Walking at twilight, Harry took wary steps, not minding where his feet led him or that he was walking on nothing but thin air. Everything was silent, he couldn't even hear his own breathing. He attempted on screaming but no noise came out— or he just can't hear? Alarmed, he started running, running towards the never ending darkness; trying to take hold of anything just so he can be certain he's going somewhere— anywhere. After what seemed like hours of running, he stopped, gasping for air; looking frantically around for any sign of advancement on location. Then just a few meters away, he saw a faint light. It was too faded that he might not noticed it if it weren't for the pitch black background. He started moving, desperate to reach what was beyond. It's glow spreading the closer he moved, then the brightness was too overwhelming, he had to close his eyes, trotting blindly into nothingness.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" he heard the muffled scream of Voldemort, then the bright light collided with him.

He dared open his eyes, surprised that he was still in his living room. The tightness between his fingers issued him back into reality. He turned to look at Draco, whose expression was hard, eyes boring into the healer' Harry could open his mouth, the blond started to demand and ask for explanations— or maybe even a misconception.

"Are you sure those are Harry's?" he bellowed, veins appearing on his neck.

"Positive," she replied a bit too quiet.

"And why did this come out all of the sudden? Harry had 37 sodden years to be informed about this!" he prompted, unaware that he was crushing Harry's hand.

"We've had a mix-up on the files— and there were more cases that need to give attend to," she answered, clearly having her response ready. "Mr. Potter's, however, was already worked on, just as he was confined at St. Mungo's after the war. He suffered emotional trauma and a couple of minor casualties in his thinking, which—" she flipped onto the third page of the paper. "—then resulted to a tumor in his brain.  
"We wanted to be assured by what we have researched— and to not risk the possibility of its increase in size due to stress and depression."

"Well, that doesn't sound fair. Hiding it from us after all these years." Draco said harshly, making the healer look down sheepishly.

They stood there, letting the silence fill in.

Harry decided for a moment, uncertain if he wanted to know just yet, but all was already said.

"How much long?" he croaked, feeling Draco's grip tighten.

"24 hours."

_A tumor... in my skull..._ Harry established in his knowledge. Who knew the boy who defeated the darkest wizard of all time would die because of the seaming-less killing o a lump in his head? It seemed absurd— preposterous, even. When all was going well, a bulk decides to selfishly take all those away. Unless he pretends—no—unless he _believes_he doesn't have the disorder, he'd live a normal life like it should be.

"Get out," Draco spat, his words filled with venom.

She hurried out of the room, retrieving the envelope and headed directly to the door, turning around all of the sudden. "It was nice meeting with you, Mr. Potter," she smiled solemnly. And with that, she opened the door, shut it, and the familiar cracking noise of apparition echoed throughout the whole house.

She always did say the same phrase whenever Harry went to an appointment with her. He couldn't stop thinking of the probability that this would be the last time she'll state it.

Then Draco lunged for Harry, capturing him in a bone-crushing embrace. Harry could do nothing but return it, then he didn't want to let go, ever. The heaving of chests and tears spilling onto Harry's torso wasn't helping at all. Grief was a sign that what awaits him is very much real and will occur— in less then 24 hours. And he loathed it.

"Draco, shh..." he withdrew, wiping the tears from Draco's cheek. "It's alright. Shh... calm down. I'm here. Stop crying... You'll ruin your elegant features." he tried for distraction.

"You know you're more important than that of my hair nor my features," Draco sniffed. "Why is it that I'm the one crying and you're not?"

"Because nothing's going to happen to me, Draco." Harry said stiffly, still convinced by his theory.

That made his lover cry even more, his swollen lips wobbled and choked out incoherent words. "Harry... I know this isn't easy for you— _for both of us_... But restraining facts won't help you, now—"

It was too much for Harry. He brutally kissed Draco square in the mouth to stop words from spilling out. The kiss was needy, exchanging comfort through soft whimpers and gentle touches of the hands.

He remembered his first kiss with Cho in 5th year. He had been too confused and desperate. Yearning for someone to share the sorrow with, because he knows deep inside that he can't stand agony alone.

They stopped, resting their foreheads onto each other as they breathed for air. Much to Harry's disappointment, Draco started crying again.

Harry lifted his face using both hands. "I'll be fine, Draco. You know I always turn out safe."

"_But..._"

"Listen to me," Harry looked at him straight in the eyes. "Everything will turn out okay, yeah? We'll have a new life— right here. Then we'll be head Aurors, and have enough money for us to go to that place you wanted to visit. What was that? France? We'll go there as much as you want. Or better yet, be professional Quidditch players. You and me, on different teams competing for the Quidditch World Cup. Seaker to seaker just like in 2nd year. Do you understand?"

_But none of those will ever happen, none, _Draco admitted bitterly. He'll never have a new life, a decent work, or even a status because all that urged him to hold onto life was Harry.

Who managed to drive Draco mad? Harry did. Who inspired Draco to do better? Harry did. Who saved him from the flames? Harry did. Who accepted him when no one else did? Harry did. Who loved him for who he was and completely forgetting what was left behind them? Harry did.

And the thought of losing the one who molded him into someone who can start anew made something inside him falter, and it's not something that can heal with time— or with anything.

Nonetheless, he nodded. Inflicting damage more to himself rather than Harry. It took every once of him to lie— to his lover whose time was limited. And it made him to succumb to the feeling more harshly.

Harry smiled and engaged a kiss that Draco received eagerly; savoring the last moments with him. Making him feel more alone before Harry even had to depart this mortal life.

* * *

_What if you could wish me away  
What if you spoke those words today  
I wonder if you would miss me when I'm gone  
It's come to this, release me  
I'll leave before the dawn_


	3. Anger

He held onto Harry, fearing that if he lose grip, he'd instantly lose him, too. And he didn't want to risk that.

He felt the same way when Harry saved him from the fire in the Room of Requirement. He grasped him too tight, if he loosen his grip, he'd lose balance; his body engulfed in the vicious flames.

Just like Ron and Hermione, Draco was astounded by Harry's immediate actions. He was a total arse to him for 7 solid years, never really expecting to be saved by him; the boy who he'd been determined to humiliate, to be better than, to bully, to release his anger on, and the one who he had to fight during the war. He'd been trapped by what was right and what was planned. He was coerced. He was emotionally unstable that time, just willing for everything to stop, or at least for him to be out of it all. He didn't want to lose anyone in vain, tragedy, and anger. He wasn't ready to lose Harry.

"You're shaking," Harry moved away. "Hang on, I'll make us some tea, yeah?"

With that, Draco nodded, struggling to stop crying. He sat down at the cushion, feeling the leather under his palm. After listening to the collision of spoon to cup, he reluctantly lifted his face to check the wall clock by his right. 1:54 PM. He covered his face with both hands, the wave of emotion taunting him.

Harry sighed in relief when he was finally doing something, anything that would distract him even just for a split second; to make the process even longer, he manually prepared the whole thing. Filling the kettle with water from the faucet, he settled it onto the stove and flickered the fire using a match. He took slow steps towards the rack where he laid his plates and silverware, retrieving two cups. He then reached for the handle of the cabinet on his right, the cold sting of the metal shocking him. He checked the room temperature, he hadn't realized it dropping down. Making a mental note on setting up the fireplace, he pulled and took out a box, taking the necessary quantity of tea bags needed. He mindlessly placed the tea bags on each cup, the string hanging on the sides.

As quick as that, he was left with nothing to do. He grudgingly waited for the water to boil, itching to stop himself from thinking about his disease.

Getting impatient, Harry used a non-verbal heating spell to quicken the process. He lifted the kettle, feeling the water in it wobble by the abrupt disturbance. Pouring water onto each cup, he began to conclude again.

He'd always been near to death that he was actually getting used to it. But something about this was different. Maybe because this was already set to a certain time. Unlike his confrontations with Voldemort, anything could go. He always had a 50:50 chance. It's either he survives or die. At least then he still had an option, but in this current case, he doesn't.

He hadn't recognize that he was staring at a flower pot by his kitchen's windowsill. Full of life, the daisy continued to brighten the room and be proud of its beauty. And that infuriated Harry.

Taking the pot, he lift it and smashed it onto the tiled floor, the sound of breaking China made him feel content. His rage blocked out all emotion but madness.

Draco raised his head as he heard a shattering noise issued by the kitchen. He ran and saw Harry's bare foot on the remnants of the pot, a hint of white just by Harry's sole.

"What happened?" he groaned.

Harry didn't move, although he winced slightly.

It made him feel drawn back to earth, the pain's vain attribution to mankind. If it weren't for pain, people would've lived their sodden lives in content, drunk with power and their luxury blinding them. If it weren't for pain, then no one would ever strive for corrections. If it weren't for pain, there would be no distinguishing on both agony and happiness. If it weren't for pain, Harry would be able to retire from this complex life with no guilt. If it weren't for pain, he would have bolted through the door and ran for miles until his feet can't take another step. If it weren't for pain, he would've left Draco as early as this, the thought of Draco mourning over him made him feel queasy. If it weren't for pain, he might not have loved Draco after all.

Then he was slowly shifting, Draco's strong hands held onto his waist as he guided him carefully through the shards. Silently working their way back to the living room, Harry looked at the blond, his red, puffy eyes made his insides boil. Keeping himself from growling he allowed to be settled back onto the sofa, his feet being gingerly lifted onto the arm rest, frowning in irritation. He watched Draco's face, tear tracks were still evident on his aged, yet beautiful, face. He walked away and Harry was left alone, again.

It wasn't long enough until Draco came back with a square briefcase Harry suspected was a First-Aid Kit. He placed the kit on the coffee table and unlocked the case. He took out a pair of tweezers, a bottle of ointment, a bag that contained only 3 cotton balls, a small clear dish, and a roll of bandage. He kneeled at the end of the sofa, where Harry's feet rested, and settled the tools onto the linoleum floor. Positioning the tweezers on his thumb and index finger, he began removing the fragments on Harry's foot, he mundanely dropped them onto the dish, the noise of cement to glass contact echoed through the whole house.

By the time Draco fished out all the shards, Harry broke the silence.

"Why are you doing this?"

He began dabbing the ointment using the cotton balls on the fresh wounds, he didn't answer him. "I don't see the point."

Draco felt his body go stiff. He knew where this would lead. "Stop."

"It's just a wound. There's no use healing it."

"Harry, stop talking."

Much to Draco's surprise, Harry laughed dryly. "I'm going to die, Draco. It won't matter anymore."

He felt as if he'd been pierced by a thousand knives, endless distress stabbing him repeatedly.

Nonetheless, he secured the leg in a bandage. Still feeling pensive.

He let go of what he was holding and strode towards a window, only realizing that it was clouded up. Using his palm, he wiped the fog to get a better view outside. The sky was decorated with low clouds, too close as if within reach. Despite the blanket of clouds, it didn't show any sign of rain. The sunset-orange leaves rustled swiftly, giving the hint that it must be windy, instead. Children ran about the street a couple of blocks from where he was, innocent smiles etched on their face. A car passed by and honked at them, the children evacuating the street immediately. As soon as the car went through, they frolicked again, not a inkling to what the world had in mind for them.

He glanced back at Harry who droned on. His light snore becoming like music to Draco's ears. How can someone who's done the world a favour could die before he even had time for himself? Right. Life isn't fair. That escaped his notice, somehow.

It was such a perfect day, he thought wistfully. Too perfect for someone to die.

* * *

_I could have treated you better  
Better than this_


	4. Bargaining

_"You know the spell, Harry."_

He was running again. This time, he realizes where he was headed and why he was running. He had to escape death's roll-call— anywhere just as long as he evade its tormenting grip on him.

_"You've got to mean it."_

But death caught up quickly without effort, the stench of stolen lives fouled his nose. He ran, and ran, a speck of hope motivated him to keep moving. Maybe with a couple more steps, he'd somehow find the exit. Then he remembered that death itself was the only vent.

He awoke with a yelp, groaning for he had wasted precious hours. Still rested on the sofa, he scanned his surroundings. Every thing has gone bleak, or maybe it's just the shadow casted by the setting sun. Thankfully, his feet have improved so he groggily stood up and searched for Draco.

Following his instinct, he first checked by the porch. Draco sat on a wooden chair, eyes fixed intently on the sun.

Harry warily settled on the other chair just beside him, sneaking a peak by the corner of his eye. Draco was unmoving, as if he hadn't realize he had company. Instead, Harry looked at where he was staring.

It was mesmerizing. Sounds cliché but it was the most beautiful act he has ever witnessed. The warm orange glow distributed by the sun made the whole subdivision more elegant tenfold. It was halfway obscured by the houses but it was still there. It may leave for now but it never fails to show up.

"Everything in this world is precious," Draco spoke up, both of them still focused on the sun. "Certainly, not all can stay."

"But, you know," he looked at Harry. "The sun must set to rise."

As if on cue, everything darkened. The houses and lampposts lit the streets with their light.

Harry stared into those unfathomable eyes, sorrow still evident in them. But Draco was strong. If he was broken, that won't surprise Harry. Because as much as how rough Harry's childhood was, Draco's was no different. He's held onto a lot of things. Then, he strived to grasp onto anything just for mere survival, stuck in between something that was planned for him and what was right. But now, he knows which to act on; no longer letting anyone use him for their own advantage. Harry's known that in him for quite a while.

He leaned and pressed his lips onto Draco's. Just that once, he's forgotten how fast time came and go— all that matters was right here and now. Draco was the one who needed comfort the most, not him. Angling his face to deepen the kiss, he flicked his tongue lightly on Draco's lower lip, asking for entrance. He lapped his tongue with Draco's, offering as much comfort as he can. He cupped his face with his hand, not minding if someone saw them. Draco gave out a strangled moan and broke the kiss, inhaling rapidly.

They sat there for a while, letting the cool breeze clash onto their skin and faces.

"'You want something to eat?" Draco began.

Harry took this as an invitation to go back inside. He nodded.

Draco, who was used to commanding house elves on chores, trusted the cooking to Harry. Since he was used to cooking for the Dursleys, he had a head-start. Not only did he like to cook, he was good at it, too. Too good that Draco even ceased eating at high-class restaurants because Harry's cooking was exceptional.

Tonight, Harry prepared a creamy mushroom soup— only because it was Draco's favourite, salad with a dressing Harry invented himself, and treacle tart for dessert.

As expected, another expensive tip from Harry's costumer, a long, passionate kiss.

They continued eating, Harry interrogating Draco occasionally.

"What was it like living the fancy life?" he stressed on the word 'fancy'.

"Fine, I guess. Because you don't have to exert effort and you always get what you want." he replied dully. "Although, it wasn't just content and relaxation. Your parents always had high expectations, just one single mistake and they can disown you that easily. It's not that easy to please father."

"What?" Harry replied through a mouthful. "A handsome and talented lad like you is worth the whole world's recognition."

Draco smirked. "Yeah, but father was always… different. He orders you to do this, do that. Learn this, learn that. When you do specifically what he tells you to do, he'd still be disappointed. I think the only time he was proud of me was when I decided to play the piano."

"You play the piano?"

"Of course I do," Draco snorted half-heartedly. "We have a lot of those at the manor. I don't think I remember to play one anymore."

"How about your mum?" Harry shifted the topic.

"Mother was high-class, but she was still loving. She talked father through everything. Like me attending Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang—"

Harry laughed, remembering the incident at the train.

"—a bigger room closet, more sweets from home…"

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the tears.

"I don't know how I'd survive then if it weren't for her." he whispered, more to himself than Harry.

Harry remembered that snarky git who pulled pranks on him and his friends. Being the selfish boy he was then, Harry didn't expect him to give out so much about his personal life.

Harry's practically the only one he has left. Half of his family was dead, half were arrested in Azkaban.

Who would Draco turn to after he leaves?

Merlin forbid, he might live alone.

He shook the idea off, Draco's dejected expression made him feel guilty. He stood up and gathered the dishes, placed them near the sink, not really fancying on doing some dishwashing.

Both went to their bedroom, not bothering to turn on the light. They feel onto the bed with an_ oomf_, lying on their back, arms almost touching. They began talking nonstop.

"Don't you think we should tell Weasley and Granger about. . .?" Draco asked after a while.

Harry completely forgot about his two best friends. "They'll know eventually."

"Eventually.…" repeated Draco.

After tortured minutes of silence, Harry speaks up.

"Remember in 3rd year?" Harry smirked. "That time Hermione punched you?"

Harry might not see that clear in the dim but he's certain Draco's face cringed. "I can't believe you still remember that." he groaned.

"How couldn't I? Your face was priceless!"

The sound of Harry's laughter made him forget about that humiliating moment. Something in his belly fluttered, he finally felt happy after hours of weeping.

"I haven't heard that laugh in a very long time." he snuggled and buried his head on the crook of Harry's neck.

"Yeah, it's been a while." he idly twisted on Draco's hair.

"Do it again."

"Do what again?"

"Laugh. Smile. I don't know, everything you do is special."

"My, my," Harry coed. "Mr. Malfoy is now a sap."

"Oh, shut up, you git." Harry could hear the smile in Draco's voice.

He chuckled and stared at the strips of light on his ceiling, enjoying the warmth radiating from Draco's body. He recapped all of his extravagant memories when he was still at Hogwarts. Sirius Black… Buckbeak… Tom Riddle… Mirror of Erised…Nicholas Flamel… Dumbledore… Snape… Mum and Dad…Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans… Hermione's Time-Turner…

Something in him snapped. He had that urge to call on Hermione, and ask for her Time-Turner. Turn back time whenever he wished, just so he could escape death. Coward, he told himself. Great, now he's counterfeiting his own actions. He'd give up anything for a couple more days. He's already convinced that he's going to die, might as well give him a chance to live this goddamn life.

Hermione must have probably surrendered the Time-Turner, he admitted sadly.

_"Mysterious thing, time."_ Dumbledore's words stood out. _"Powerful. But when meddled with, dangerous."_

The sound of branches scratching his window made him look out of the window. It's getting too dark. It's getting to late.

Then again, time was irrevocable.

* * *

_What if you could hear this song  
What if I felt like I belong  
I might not be leaving oh so soon  
Began the night believing I loved you in the moonlight _


	5. Depression

Harry carefully sat up, so as to not disturb Draco's slumber. He swings his legs and felt the familiar sting of the tiled floor. Entering the bathroom, he mindlessly searched for the light switch on his left. Finally flicking it, he walk towards the sink and stare at his reflection in the mirror. His face was paler and pallid than usual, no longer seeing the spark in his now dull and lifeless eyes. He bows his head down, arms supporting him by the edge of the sink. Then he stares at the marble, listening to the slow clash of water droplets on it. _Pluck, pluck, pluck_. He hadn't realized that he was crying when a tear drops from his eye and merges with the water. Without looking up, he twists the handle of the faucet, watching silently as the water cascades onto the teardrops. He shudders as he drenched his hands and curls it under the water, soaking his face with it. He buries his head on a towel, enjoying the softness and minimum amount of warmth it bears. Turning one last look at his reflection, he switches the light off and enters the bedroom chamber once again.

Instead of going back to bed, he sat at one of their leather chairs by the bed.

Idly letting his eyes drift around the room, a portrait of him at Ron and Hermione's wedding catches his attention.

He remembers when Ron offered him to be his best man. Of course, he agreed, anything for his best lad. He took out his finest tux, which costs more than all his Hogwarts books for the whole 6 years he's been studying there, polished shoes, an went out to buy the couple a present. He doesn't know why he's such in a rush, the wedding doesn't even start until three weeks! Maybe it's the thought of Hermione walking down the aisle and finally seals her and Ron's love with an enthusiastic kiss. It made him feel so proud of his two best friends.

Three weeks of preparation and calming down of Ron's nerves had come by.

Everything was going as planned, Invitations were successfully delivered to the guests, enough food for the reception, the order of chairs and tables, music, and the wedding cake Harry proudly decorated himself.

The wedding was being held at a popular and exquisite garden near Harlow, Essex. He came in an hour early to help with the preparations. It wasn't that easy for Harry to reserve the place but he managed. The sun was warm and the sky had a welcoming colour of blue, not a wisp of cloud in sight. The stillness of everything made him concentrate on the harmonious chirp of the birds and the soft purr of engine cars. Smiling up at the sky, he let the warmth of the sun hit his face.

"Harry, mate," Ron approached him, looking really anxious. _Typical Ron, _Harry thought. "I-I don't think I can do this..."

"Ron, I hope you're joking about that." he shifted so he was now angled towards him. "Don't worry, yeah? I know you'll do brilliant."

Ron didn't look convinced. "But... You know me, I get really nervous on occasions like this. We all know where that leads to."

"Honestly, Ron. You really think that Hermione agreed to marry you if she didn't know what you were capable of?" Harry placed his hand on Ron's shoulder. "Believe me, I know you can pull this one off. And if something does go wrong, I'll be there to back you up."

"Really?" Ron looked up and beamed.

"You're my best mate, of course I'd help you out."

"Thanks, Harry." he checked his watch. "Blimey, I have to get ready. I'll see you later!"

And with that, Harry was back to enjoying the warmth on his face.

Visitors slowly filled the place, the buzzing noise stopped Harry from his sunbathing. Familiar faces and some he barely knew greeted him. He gave them a brief tour of the place, itching just to leave them for even a while. Thankfully, he saw Draco and briskly went over to him.

"The wedding hasn't even started and I'm already exhausted." Harry complained.

Draco smirked from his drink and said, "You better have enough energy for tonight."

"I'm not going dancing, Draco."

Draco took a long swig. "I wasn't referring about the dance."

Harry laughed and playfully smacked Draco's arse. Before he even went back to the new-comers, Draco whirled him around and wrapped his arms around his hips, effectively trapping him.

"Do you know how fuckable you look in your suit?" he purred.

"I always am."

Draco leaned in on Harry's ear. "Tease all you can, Potter. But behind closed doors, you're under my control."

He sucked lightly on Harry's earlobe, which earned him a moan from the brunet. Harry reluctantly wriggled out of Draco's grasp. It was his mate's bloody wedding and he had a boner.

"Fucking Malfoy." he muttered as he walked away.

"Yes, please!" Draco called out.

Minutes passed and it was time.

Everything was perfect. The music played by the orchestra managed to sooth down the tension of the place. Even the scent of the freshly-mowed grass adding something to the theme. Then the big wooden doors swung open, revealing a gorgeous lady in her best smile.

She slowly walked, her long dress trailing behind her. Her outfit was adorned by a Muggle designer, who had done a really great job on it. The dress was strapless, nothing clinging onto her shoulders. It hugged her figure, flaunting her curves and revealing some of her cleavage. Magnificent embroidery ornate the top-most part. And just by her waist, the first layer of cloth was a see-through, giving the effect of sparkling by the sun's rays. The final layer was made of some type of cloth that wasn't dense that it made the illusion of Hermione practically floating while she walks.

Her headdress was a small tiara stabbed with diamonds and the veil loosely drifting as she advances with each step. She mentioned to Harry last time that it was her family's tradition to wear the headdress on their wedding day.

She had her hair curled in an elegant way just like during the Yule Ball. It was tied nicely on top so that it looked shorter, a thick strand of hair fall on both sides of her face.

She was halfway there now and the sun cast shadows on her face which made her look even more stunning.

Even with all these grandeur, Harry still sees the brainy, bushy haired and buck-toothed girl he was best friends with.

The wedding ended with Ron blushing hotly, even his flaming red hair couldn't compete with it.

Everyone was happy and rejoicing. But as Harry stated, he went home as soon as he took a photo with the newly-wed couple.

And then snogging. A lot of snogging with Draco Malfoy.

Harry stood up from his seat and transferred onto the edge of his bed, feeling the sheet linen with his fingertips. He then rubs his eyes with his palms.

Happiness was the general mood he perceived that day. And now, he's trying so hard to experience it, once again. He felt so numb all of the sudden. Bloody hell, he might as well be dead at the moment. Why bother with anything? He'll just get his hopes up and watch it topple down into an endless pit— and he's so sick of it.

He felt the mattress rock slowly and found himself wrapped in Draco's embrace, his chin resting on Harry's shoulder. It didn't engage in anything sexual, just giving out enough comfort; and it struck Draco hard when he realized that that was the only thing he can do for now.

Since he knows Harry wasn't going to talk sooner or later, he spoke up, "Harry... how are you feeling?"

"Dismal." responded Harry, not looking up from his hands.

_Uh, oh. Not good_, Draco thought. "Why not... tell me something about weird Auror cases you've been assigned to?" he attempted on brightening the atmosphere of the room. "Or maybe something about the Chudley Cannons—"

"Draco, drop it, please." Draco can hear the pleading in his voice.

"Harry, I'm just doing everything I can—"

"You're not doing enough!" he spat. Turning around, making Draco release him from his embrace. "Your fucking pity and remorse won't give me more time, Draco."

He felt as if he was drenched in water beyond freezing point.

"I just want to save you."

Silence. Only their panting were heard.

"What if I don't want to be saved?" Harry whispered after a while.

"Don't act like a valiant Gryffindor, Harry." Draco reasoned out, now furious.

"I am not." returned Harry.

"You're a complete liar. A bloody stupid one at it, too!"

Harry inhaled deeply. "Can we just leave it?"

"Oh, with the rest of these rubbish?" Draco spat. "What do you want me to do? Just leave you here and die?"

"Yes." Harry replied instantly. It was better for Draco to not witness his death. He was just doing his lover a final favour.

Draco glared at him. Chest heaving of anger. But soon enough, his emotion shifted into grief.

"I can't take this anymore, Harry. Do you know what was it like then to—to cope up with your sickness? Yeah, I had a bit of suspicion but I never really considered it until that healer confirmed it. You kept asking questions you already know the answer to. You repeat yourself, not noticing you had. You can't remember where you laid your glasses. Merlin, you even forgot our anniversary last week! Every time you act like that, it kills me, Harry! It's _killing _me."

This wasn't what Harry had in mind. He just wanted to be alone to think, not lose Draco.

"Draco, no, don't do this. That's not what I meant," he hears his voice crack. "You're the only one who keeps me sane, I don't want to die alone. I take it all back, I need you. If you go, I'll die, Draco."

"But, Harry..." Draco's voice faltered.

"Just..." Harry sighed. "Just stay with me. One last time?"

"I can't keep living like this, Harry." Draco spoke in a heart-wrenching tone.

Harry decided it was best to distance himself with Draco for a while. He stood up, listening to the silent sobs Draco made. When did walking away felt like he was defying gravity?

Silently closing the door, he walked to his sofa and turned the TV on. As soon as the first noise was released, he pressed the mute button immediately, not wanting to break the silence.

_Tick, tock._

He'd passed almost every channel and found them all tedious. He laid his head back, watching the lights issued by the TV change in colour on his ceiling. He tried mostly on recalling his happy moments. But they all came and go, they were all gone by a blur.

Even with all the magic in the world—combined with the greatest witches and wizards—Harry had no chance of survival. No matter how many times Draco reminded him he had a future to look forward to, he knows that none of those are true, even Draco knows he's also lying to himself.

Finally sticking to one channel, Harry let his worries fade for a while. Even though they'll just come back as soon he thinks about it.

_Tick, tock._

Harry's really awful when it comes to stalling his thoughts. Sighing, he turns the TV off and welcomes the wearisome problems.

The Wizarding World would probably hold a grand memorial for him, no doubt it, the Daily Prophet selling like wildfire, friends mourning everyday, millions of biographies sold worldwide— including those misleading ones by Rita Skeeter.

_Tick, tock._

Aside from Draco, he feels guilty for Teddy. Harry, Draco, and Andromeda were his only family. With no parents and no other family members, it's all the-boy-in-the-cupboard-under-the-stairs all over again. It's up to Draco to teach Teddy for now, then. Tell him stories during their Hogwarts days, how the dark days were no more, how heroic both of his parents were, and how he would be, too, after he graduates.

Harry always had a way with children, only Merlin knows why. Draco was fond of watching him play with Rose and Hugo, he couldn't find the reason why Harry was so good with kids. He always treated them to the ice cream parlour across the block, the same flavours every time, vanilla for Hugo and strawberry for Rose (chocolate for Draco on rare occasions). Although, they only get to eat ice cream during Sundays because Hermione was strict when it comes to their health and diet.  
Then they would go for a walk down the park after buying the ice creams on-the-go. Both Harry and Draco had to keep an eye on Hugo if ever he tries to chase a duck and eventually fall into a pond— but sometimes they would let him, hoping that he would learn his lesson.  
Nearly sunset so they go back to Ron and Hermione's place. Politely declining Hermione's offer of tea, they would walk a couple more blocks until they were back home. After dinner, they would have their good night shag.

"_Oh gods_," Draco panted. "Harry... Harry, I love you."

Harry smirked and planted a hectic kiss on his mouth. "I love you, too, Draco."

"Till death do us part?"

"Till death do us part."

_Tick, tock._

Harry cranes his neck to face the wall clock. Only the sound by the second hand of the clock was heard in the still house. Only a couple more minutes remain. This time, he'll be able to prove that his love will last until the very end.

* * *

_Well I'm gone, this song's your letter  
I can't stay in one place_


	6. Acceptance

"This is it, Harry." Draco whispered.

"Do you really think so?" Harry asked.

"Of course, Harry. Why the forlorn tone?"

"It's just... everyone I care seem to be taken away from me and there was little I could do."

"That's the past, love." Draco reassured him. "If you keep looking back, you won't notice that rock you're about to walk into. You should keep moving forward without looking back. That way you'll know where you're headed and not trip on the same rock all over again."

"You're right." Harry flashed a weak smile.

"We're going to have a proper family now." Draco kissed him.

Harry wakes up with a jolt. With some hint of hesitation, he finally stands up, making some joints pop in the process. He takes wary steps towards the bedroom, still not bothering to turn the lights on.

He struggles with the doorknob until he got a good grip and turned. Even by the strips of light from their window, he could make out the outline of Draco who was slowly raising his head. Draco blinked at Harry stupidly before launching himself at him.

"Harry, I'm really sorry," he spoke rapidly, his voice hoarse. "I didn't mean everything I said. I was caught up. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

"It's alright," Harry shushed him, rubbing comforting circles on Draco's back. "I know you didn't. It's not your fault. Stop crying, love. Please?"

Thankfully, Draco ceased from apologising but continued to sob quietly on Harry's chest. "I don't want to lose you." he said after a while.

Harry's body went stiff, hoping that Draco didn't notice. "You won't, Draco." was what he settled with. "You won't."

And they just stood there, holding onto each other, Draco's grasp tight. Although blunt nails bore painfully into Harry's torso, he still felt numb.

Everything felt surreal. Harry knew that everyone would eventually depart, he has accepted that, but realising he hasn't—wouldn't—be spending the rest of his tattered life with draco, the only person that mattered, just takes him over the edge. He gritted his teeth, in the hopes of not showing any sign of weakness. Call him martyr but that's one of the abilities he prized most about himself.

His mind started to wander. He didn't really care about himself, he noticed. All his life he devoted to avenging the dead, not actually caring of the effects on himself. Maybe that's why he feels half-ready to confront this next great adventure. but something tugs in him. _Of course_, it's because of the man who he loves dearly to let go of. And it painfully stabs Harry's heart repeatedly when he knows he would soon leave him.

Then faint notes started to sing in his hears, wondering why the neighbours would decide to play music at an ungodly hour.

_And dance your final dance  
This is your only chance  
To hold the one you love  
You know you've waited long enough_

And before he new it, they were leisurely moving to the slow rhythm of the song, clutching onto each other with want and desperation.

_So, believe that magic works  
Don't be afraid of being hurt  
Don't let this magic die  
The answer's there  
Oh, just look in their eyes_

Then green orbs met grey. All the hurt and sorrow visibly swimming in those pleading eyes. Yet something more powerful overtakes the negative emotions and Harry knows they both can feel it. The protectiveness and unconditional love for each other is overwhelming but pleasantly familiar.

"And make your final move." Harry softly sang the next verse. "Don't be scared, he wants you to."

Draco rested his chin on Harry's shoulder and whispered the rest. "Yeah, it's hard. You must be brave. Don't let this moment slip away."

_Now, believe that magic works  
Don't be afraid, afraid of being hurt  
Don't let this magic die  
The answer's there  
Oh, just look in their eyes_

"And don't believe that magic can die," both men sang, tears threatening to spill onto each other. "No, no, no, this magic can't die."

Then Harry finally lets go of all barriers. Crying out everything he has kept bottled inside him.

_So dance your final dance  
'Cause this is your final chance_

And through it all, Draco was still there. He always was

No one said anything for a while. Mere consolation was enough for Harry. Slowly, with Draco's whispering of soft nothings in his ear, Harry gains composure and stares into the person who has stole his heart.

He smiles sadly, not trusting his voice to speak.

Then an intolerable, searing headache made him screech. he grasped either temples, attempting to trigger any pressure points that would lessen the pain. Despite the deafening pain, he heard the guttural cries of Draco. He opened his eyes then wished he hadn't. Draco was a mess. Just weeping and couldn't do anything for the only person he has settled with. Harry's surprised that Draco hasn't break yet, which reminds him how much he appreciates his husband's outstanding composure amidst the powerful emotions building up inside him.

"Harry," he moaned, clutching onto his hand. "Harry, I love you. I really do."

"I do—" Harry managed in between cries. "—too, Draco. And I will... always do. Don't forget... that."

"But why do you have to go, love?" Draco was uncontrollably shaking now.

"Sometimes, death is the only mercy we have left."

He bravely raises his head and kisses Draco square on the mouth. Tears rapidly flowing from their eyes down to their chests.

And just like that, the man who gave him a reason to live is now a cold corpse, soaked in their own tears.

* * *

_But for tonight I'll stay here with you  
Yes for tonight I'll lay here with you  
But when the sun hits your eyes through your window  
There will be nothing you can do_

* * *

_To be continued._


End file.
